Chapter 1Thirty Minutes of Laughter After I Lost All Assets

Married for three years, and she slapped me across the face in the middle of a board meeting. All for her one that got away.

She looked down at me. "Oscar, give the company to him. You don't deserve it."

I just smiled. No tears, no screaming, no flipping tables.

I quietly signed the equity transfer agreement and slid the corporate seal across the mahogany table.

Everyone in that room thought I was a coward yielding to the pressure.

But they didn't know the truth.

Sitting on that company's books was a black hole of eighty million dollars.

My hand was shaking when I signed those papers.

Not out of anger.

I was terrified she might change her mind.

* * *

When Beatrice walked into the conference room, every executive stood up.

It wasn't out of respect.

It was because of the man walking right behind her.

Oliver.

Her college sweetheart. Her "perfect regret." Word on the street was that he was a Wall Street hotshot who had just moved back from London, a financial prodigy with a ruthless edge.

I was sitting at the head of the table. The coffee in my mug was still steaming.

The moment I saw them walk in shoulder to shoulder, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

But Beatrice's first words made it painfully clear. We weren't here to discuss the quarterly earnings report.

"Oscar Pendleton."

She used my full name.

The last time she called me by my full name was three years ago at the courthouse when we signed our marriage certificate.

I set my mug down. "What's going on?"

She marched right up to me. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor.

Then, she raised her hand.

Smack.

She slapped me hard across the left cheek.

The entire boardroom flatlined.

The pen in Richard's hand slipped. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the table. The old financial director froze for three seconds, not even daring to reach for it.

My head snapped to the side. A dull ringing echoed in my left ear.

It didn't hurt.

Honestly, it didn't hurt at all.

But I still put on a mask of absolute heartbreak.

After all, I had been waiting three long months for this exact slap.

Beatrice's eyes were red. I couldn't tell if it was genuine emotion or just a performance. Her acting skills had definitely improved over the last three years.

"Oscar, give the company to him."

She pointed a manicured finger at Oliver standing behind her.

"You don't deserve it."

Oliver stood tall. His expression was composed, but his eyes carried a distinct glint that screamed he was simply better than me.

His tailored suit fit flawlessly. His hair was styled to perfection. The guy radiated the insufferable energy of a motivational speaker on a TED Talk stage.

I almost burst out laughing right there.

There were eleven executives in that room. Not a single one made a sound.

Some stared at their phones. Some found the ceiling tiles fascinating. Others suddenly developed a profound academic interest in the plastic water bottles on the table.

My secretary, Sarah, stood in the corner. She was biting her lip so hard it was about to bleed.

She was the only person in the room who knew the actual financial data.

Besides me, of course.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

"Alright."

Beatrice blinked.

She had clearly prepped herself for a massive shouting match. Behind her, Oliver also stiffened. He probably didn't expect his hero moment to go this smoothly.

I walked to the other end of the table and picked up the equity transfer agreement the legal team had drafted in advance.

I flipped to the last page.

Signed it.

Stamped it.

I slid the corporate seal right to Oliver's fingertips.

The whole process took less than two minutes.

Richard finally picked up his pen from the floor. He looked at me with an expression so complicated it could have been a modern art exhibit.

He was a veteran numbers guy.

He knew exactly what those digits meant.

But he didn't dare say a word.

Because Beatrice was Victor Sinclair's daughter. Victor might be retired, but the old man still cast a long shadow in this industry.

I pushed the signed documents toward Beatrice.

"Sign it."

She picked up the pen. Her hand was trembling.

Maybe it was excitement.

Maybe she was moved to tears.

She was finally merging the love of her life with her family's empire.

How poetic.

I gave her a silent standing ovation in my head.

After signing, Beatrice looked up at me. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else.

I didn't give her the chance.

"I've already packed my things. Keep the house. I'm taking my car. It's not worth much anyway, so consider it my parting gift to you."

I grabbed my keys off the table and walked toward the door.

"Oh, right."

I glanced back at Oliver.

He squared his shoulders and met my gaze head-on.

"Congratulations."

I left him with that single word and pushed through the glass doors.

The hallway was incredibly long.

My leather shoes clicked against the marble floor. Step after step.

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside and hit the button for the underground garage.

The second those metal doors closed.

I smiled.

It wasn't a bitter smile. It wasn't a cold smirk.

It was the genuine, soul-cleansing, weight-of-the-world-lifting grin of a man who just tossed a live grenade into someone else's lap.

I covered my face and crouched in the corner of the elevator. My shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

I made it to the garage, got into my car, and slammed the door shut.

Then I laughed for a solid thirty minutes.

I laughed until I was starved for oxygen. I laughed until my ribs ached. I laughed until my tears soaked the leather steering wheel.

I'm not a psychopath.

You just don't know the truth.

Sitting on that company's balance sheet was a black hole of exactly eighty million dollars.

Eighty million.

Not eighty thousand.

I saw those audit reports last year.

I had been fighting off furious suppliers and their unpaid invoices the year before that.

Abandoned construction projects. Lawsuit payouts. Notices for unpaid taxes.

They were all stuffed inside my desk drawer.

I had sent Beatrice three separate emails. I texted her twice. I even called her for forty minutes straight, begging her to understand the financial reality of her father's company.

Her exact words to me were:

"Can you just show a little ambition for once? Stop bothering me with your corporate whining."

Fine.

I won't bother you anymore.

You wanted the company today. You got it.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

I pulled my phone out of the glovebox and shot a text to my best friend, Mario.

"Are you free tonight? I'm buying drinks at your spot."

Three seconds later, he replied.

"You're paying? Did the sky fall down? What happened?"

"I'm divorced."

"What time? I'm going to murder that Sinclair woman."

"No, don't."

I typed out the next line as fast as I could.

"I'm buying drinks to celebrate."

There was a ten-second pause before his next message popped up.

"Are you insane?"

I chuckled and started the engine.

My phone started ringing.

Victor Sinclair.

I glanced at the caller ID and hit decline.

Today was the happiest day of my life in three years.

My father-in-law. Wait, my ex-father-in-law's calls could wait for another day.